


Ephelis

by tiamatv



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cas doesn't understand, Dick Pics, Fluff and Crack, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sam Doesn't Understand Why He Has To Be Involved In This, Season/Series 09
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-12
Updated: 2020-06-12
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:00:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24671995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiamatv/pseuds/tiamatv
Summary: “I think someone has sent me a picture of their genitals.” Castiel looked down at his phone. “Erect.”
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 31
Kudos: 414





	Ephelis

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cryptomoon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cryptomoon/gifts).



> Alright, [crypto](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cryptomoon/pseuds/cryptomoon), you have absolutely no-one to blame for this bit of ridiculous but yourself.
> 
> Completely unbetaed, written at a frantic pace, and very, very silly. I may actually edit this at some point, but... maybe not.

“Cas, if you stare at that phone any harder you’re going to explode its batteri— _what the Hell?_ ”

Castiel looked up from his contemplation of the fleshy object on his phone screen. “I have more control over my grace than that, Sam,” he told the younger Winchester, reproachfully. He hadn’t ‘exploded’ anything unintentionally in a very long time, and the idea that he had so little control, even with the fading of his grace, was offensive.

Sam’s mouth flapped open and closed in what Castiel thought was a rather remarkable expression of shock, considering how _little_ seemed to shock Sam Winchester these days. However, Sam didn’t elaborate. Cas turned the phone to study it from a different angle, tilting his head to one side. The image didn’t change—he didn’t expect it to—but it didn’t make any more sense than it had from this angle, either. The penis in it was simply pointed off to the side, now.

“Cas, are you, um, is that… I mean, no judgment, man, _really_ , whatever floats your… but uh…” There was a soft, scrubbing, scratching noise and when Castiel looked up, Sam had a hand in his own hair and seemed to be deciding whether to scratch at it or at his own face. “Look, maybe don’t look at porn on your phone where other people can see it? It’s just… it’s weird.”

Castiel frowned, cross. “I am not looking at pornography, I know what that is.” Well, he knew what it was _now—_ though why humans wanted to look at people having unrealistic intercourse he wasn’t entirely sure, either. Sam sounded like he was floundering. “I think someone has sent me a picture of their genitals.” Castiel looked down at his phone again. “Erect.” That was a distinction that humans made frequently enough in his observations of them.

Sam’s high-pitched, choking noise cut off in a way that made Castiel check to see if there was still breath coming from his lips. There was, though it took a moment to start again. “Someone you _know_?” Sam gasped.

“I don’t think so.”

“How do you not—how can you not—”

Castiel checked to see if Sam was having a stroke. But no there didn’t appear to be any unstable aneurysms or embolic events that he could see through his skin. He was just red-faced.

“It is not a number I recognize. And I don’t consider men’s genitals an identifying feature.” Castiel cocked his head and studied the picture again. “So it’s possible that I do know them, but simply wouldn’t recognize them. Or, well, him, I suppose.” Humans were very fixated on gender.

“H _hh_ i…” Sam trailed off, then started again. “So, uh, why is someone… what…”

“I don’t know.” The penis had a freckle on the underside, just distal to midshaft and adjacent to the spongiosal ridge. Even with the flush of erection the little mark was visible. It didn’t look melanomatous—it was even-bordered, even in hue, a light golden color—but Castiel had also not paid very much attention to penises in his past, erect or otherwise. He didn’t think his own vessel’s had any moles. Perhaps he’d check. “Why would they do this, Sam?”

“Because, uh, ‘cause, it—it’s a—it’s—uh, you know what?” Sam’s voice took on a high, bright, tremulous cheer. “Why don’t you ask Dean? He knows a lot more about this kind of thing.”

Dean _was_ both the more experienced and the more openly promiscuous one of the Winchesters, that was true. He also seemed to have deemed himself Castiel’s educator in most things of a human sexual nature. Cas nodded to himself. He would ask Dean the next time he saw him.

Dean was nowhere to be found, and the next time Castiel saw him he was very intoxicated. So that was very unhelpful. In the end, he never did ask.

He really wasn’t sure why anyone would want to look at human genitals, anyway, much less send another person a static image of them. They were very strange and rather inefficient, whether engorged or otherwise.

*_*_*_*

Some years, a few truncated iterations of the Apocalypse, several falls from grace and godhood and a number of fortunately impermanent deaths later, Castiel had mostly forgotten about the whole incident, insofar as an angel ever forgot anything.

Not that he _was_ an angel, anymore, and he would find time to mourn that later—now that he was safe, and well-fed, and clean, dressed in warm, sweet-scented clothes.

Castiel wasn’t thinking about _any_ of that right now, either. Except maybe getting out of these clean, sweet-scented, but now somehow too-warm and very confining clothes.

Dean had kissed him first. Castiel was certain of this. He wouldn’t forget that, not ever, not in a human lifetime or an angel’s. Dean had told him that he had to go—and Castiel had died before, he had been tortured and he had died _recently,_ and he had never felt pain like that—and when Castiel, with no recourse but dignity, had stood, well—

No-one had told him that human life felt like snapshots, at times. The snarl that curled Dean’s lips, as if he was going to strike Castiel for his acquiescence with Dean’s wishes. The hand that had fisted in the collar of his plain shirt, tangling in the cord that led down from the hood of his jacket (Castiel had still not figured out what that shoelace seemed to be for.) The way gravity had seemed not to matter for a moment as Dean _yanked_.

Kissing Dean did not feel the same as April’s soft silky brushes, or Meg’s teasing, hard bite.

Kissing Dean did not feel the same as _anything_ he knew.

Coming home, perhaps. But Heaven had never felt like this.

They bumped their way across objects, tripped across tables. Castiel didn’t know how they had made it to a room, but they had, and it smelled stale and close and there were weapons hangings on the wall. It was Dean’s place, his own, and arousal almost spiked Castiel into his place, gasping.

Intercourse had felt good—felt _very_ good, hot and nervous and surprising—but having Dean, _his Dean_ , in front of him and struggling with both of their clothes with their hands tangling clumsily? This wasn’t nervous heat or wondering if his body knew to do this correctly, this was winging through a lightning storm and laughing at the glory of creation.

“Fuck, _Cas,_ you gotta… slow down, buddy,” Dean gasped.

Castiel paused, somewhere between shoving Dean’s shirt over his head with one hand and attempting to undo his own pants with the other. “Do you actually want me to slow down?” he asked, with honest curiosity.

“Yeah—I mean, no, I mean—” but Dean laughing was almost as good, when he backed towards the bed and pulled Castiel down on top of him. “Dammit. C’mere.”

Shedding their clothes wasn’t any easier lying down. It was still clumsy, even horizontal where neither of them could fall over, but there was something sweet about it in the desperation—or at least, so Castiel thought, when he could still think. He had never opened a present before, had never had one to open, but peeling off Dean’s layers, he understood.

It was just so _much_. Even things he hadn’t contemplated _could_ feel good, did. He knew a touch to his penis felt good. He didn’t know that hearing “ _Fuck_ , your cock, Cas,” into his ear would make goosebumps rise all along his arms and thighs. He knew that male nipples were vestigial. So it didn’t make any sense at all how much he enjoyed the hard nip of teeth on them, tugging until they were rosy and sharp.

The slick touch of Dean’s mouth on his penis should not, from an objective standpoint, have felt much different from the touch of Castiel’s hand, or April’s, but _oh_.

The low, choked moans spilling from Castiel’s lips said otherwise, loudly and enthusiastically. It was all very undignified. It was entirely unangelic, that he was clutching at sheets with one hand and mussing dark blond hair with the other and his own Righteous Man was sucking on him in little jerks of his lips and tongue.

Castiel didn’t _care_.

He could stop himself—he had to. Dimly, he recalled that if he let himself go he would be useless for a little while, and he did not want to be useless. It was getting harder and harder to remember that, as one of Dean’s hands joined the motion of his mouth and Castiel heard his own deep voice _break_.

“Can I try?” he panted, pushing at Dean’s shoulder before it became more than overwhelming. “I’d like to try.”

Dean laughed and looked up, and his eyes were warm, his lips red and bright as sun-warmed cherries. The breath he puffed onto Castiel’s saliva-wet glans felt so _cold_ in comparison that his whole body tightened. “You’re not gonna hear _me_ sayin’ no to that.”

Dean’s nipples were not as sensitive as Castiel’s, but his ribs were more so. He was _ticklish_. Castiel didn’t know why he should find that delightful, but he did. Dean’s skin was darker and flushed red when Castiel wiggled his way down, tasting the soft paunch just under Dean’s bellybutton, and the curled hairs at his groin tickled Castiel’s chin. His erection was _beautiful_ —and Castiel realized just how strange it was that he was thinking that, but it was, straight and rigid and blood-hot, flushed and _neat._

And… familiar?

That was when he recalled.

“Oh,” Castiel commented, rather cheerfully, brushing the tip of a finger over a rather familiar golden speckle, just on the bottom surface of Dean’s shaft before it curved into the full, rosy glans, just beside his midline raphe. Dean’s whole body jerked towards the touch. “Hello. I know you.”

“What?” Dean demanded, hazily.

“Nothing,” Castiel leaned in and licked, trailing the tip of his tongue up the underside from base to frenulum, then back down to tease a circle around the small golden spot. Dean writhed underneath him, and yes, Castiel liked this quite a _lot._ He pulled himself upwards and tasted a thick, salty droplet beading up at Dean’s meatus. It wasn’t unpleasant, and Dean’s moan when Castiel dipped in for another lick was something he wanted to bottle, to _create_. He was going to _enjoy_ this. “I think am beginning to understand the appeal.”

Dean’s reaction to the picture on _his_ phone the next day, taken in the morning when Castiel woke up to find himself alone in Dean’s bed, was _spectacular_.

Sam’s reaction to finding them occupied in the kitchen once Dean opened the picture on his phone was somewhat less than encouraging. However, Castiel thought that Sam had no-one to blame for that but himself.

(Really, he should have explained.)

~fin~

June 11, 2020

**Author's Note:**

> The Prompt: Alternatively, canon fic where Dean accidentally texts Cas a dick pic and has an absolute dumbass meltdown over it and starts acting like an idiot and avoiding Cas, but Cas hadn't programmed that number into his phone so he doesn't know it was Dean. Until of course, everything comes to a head (pun intended) and oh look a familiar freckle. :)
> 
> "Ephelis" is the medical term for a small freckle. Yes, I know, I'm awful with titles, and I'm a nerd.


End file.
